


In Which Dean Gets Drunk And Says Things He'll Regret

by IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arguments, Birthday Fluff, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Use Their Words, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester's Birthday, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Drunk Texting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Light Angst, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27686812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt/pseuds/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt
Summary: It's Dean's birthday, and he's out getting drunk.Sam is concerned.An argument is cleared up, and then there is fluff.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	In Which Dean Gets Drunk And Says Things He'll Regret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConnorBlackwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnorBlackwood/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I own nothing! If I did, the show wouldn't have ended the way it did!
> 
> Sorry if the ending seemed a little rushed :( it kept trying to turn angsty again so I had to hurry and finish it

Dean was drunk.

Dean didn’t usually get this drunk, especially when he still had to drive back to the bunker later. If he didn’t, Sam would worry.

Still, Dean felt fully justified getting as drunk as he was, which was very drunk. The lights were dancing in front of his eyes and his head was spinning.

He motioned for another shot, but the bartender shook his head. “Nuh-uh, buddy. I’m cutting you off. Got someone to call to come pick you up?”

Dean took a moment to process that, then slowly shook his head. Sam wasn’t gonna come pick him up; Sam was still angry with him. Dean couldn’t remember quite why, but he knew Sam was mad.

“Keys,” the bartender said.

“Huh?”

“Hand ‘em over, man. I ain’t letting you drive like this. Hell, I’d feel responsible if you wrapped yourself around a tree.” He held his hand out, palm up, and Dean slowly handed over his keys. It was only about ten miles back to the bunker, maybe he could walk.

He looked outside, where sleet was coming down and it was about as cold as one would expect it to be in late January.

Okay, so no walking home. Dean stood up from his barstool, then promptly grabbed a hold of the bar in front of him to keep from toppling over. Jesus, how much had he had to drink?

“Okay, buddy, you’re the only one left here. I gotta close up shop.”

Dean nodded muzzily.

“Call someone to come get you, man.”

“C-Can’t. Brother’s pissed at me.” The words came out a whole lot more slurred than Dean had planned on, but he was pretty sure the man understood him. The floor was looking awfully comfortable, so he sat down on it suddenly and roughly. 

The bartender was crouched in front of him, his face swimming in and out of Dean’s field of vision. Dean reached up and patted him on the cheek.

“Jesus, man,” the bartender said. “I shoulda cut you off a few shots ago. Call your brother, or I will.” Then, with the air of a man who knew that what he’d ordered would be done, he started sweeping the floor.

Dean called his brother. Sam sounded irritated on the phone, but he’d be there in twenty minutes. Dean finished the call out with a sad “‘M sorry, Sammy,” then slumped back onto the floor and stared at the phone in his hand.

“So, how come you’re out here drowning your sorrows?” The bartender was trying to make conversation. Blearily, Dean wondered why the dude thought that a man so drunk he couldn’t stand was gonna be a good conversationalist.

“‘S my birthday.”

“Happy birthday, then. You’re looking awful glum for a birthday boy.” The bartender was wiping down the bar now.

“Not a big deal.”

They sat in silence until Sam’s large, plaid covered bulk appeared in the doorway.

“Jesus, Dean.” And he was crouched in front of Dean, shaking his shoulders. Dean groaned as the room spun. “What did you do to yourself?”

Dean gave him a sloppy smile, and tried to stand up. It didn’t work.

Dean tried not to be offended at the indignity of being carried slung over Sam’s shoulder to Sam’s car. Sam dumped him gently into the passenger seat and buckled him in, then crossed to the driver’s side door.

“Why’d you do it, Dean? It’s been ages since you got this drunk.” Sam was looking at him concernedly in the dark of the car, readying himself to drive back to the bunker.

“Birthday,” Dean explained.

Sam’s brow furrowed, and he looked an awful lot like a kicked puppy. “Oh.”

Dean felt like he’d done something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what, and in the middle of trying to puzzle it out, he fell asleep.

***

He woke up in his own bed in the bunker with a pounding headache and a bad case of morning breath. There was a cup of water and two Advil on his bedside table, which he happily availed himself of. Then he made his way down the hallway for a shower, hoping that the hot water would alleviate his hangover.

It didn’t really help much.

After peeking into Sam’s room just to check on him, and noting that the Sasquatch was sprawled, fully clothed, over his bed with his feet hanging off the end, Dean headed into the kitchen to rustle up some breakfast.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a birthday cake on the table, with wrapped boxes sitting around it. The cake was obviously homemade.

Sam had made him a birthday cake, and gotten him birthday presents. Dean pulled out his phone to take a picture, and noticed that he had an unread message from Sam, from last night.

_ > Fine. Have it your way. _

Oh, hell. What had Dean done? He opened the rest of the message thread.

_ > Dean, please come home? I have a surprise for you. _

_ < Don’t wanna. _

_ > Dean, please. I know we’ve been arguing recently but just trust me on this. _

_ < Yeah we’ve been arguing. U r a stubborn bastard n I can’t do anything right for u. _

_ > I know what I said and I’m sorry.  _

_ < Sorry, sure. You say that a lot. Like when u almost die doing some stupid trials. _

_ > Dean, I really am sorry, but I had to do it. _

_ < U shldntve. I was gonna. Can’t letme protec you? _

_ > Are you drunk? Where are you? _

_ < yOu dnt wan me to take care of u u dnt get 2 take care of me. _

_ > Fine. Have it your way. _

The phone clattered to the kitchen table.

Sure, the trials that Sam was only now fully healing from had caused friction between them, but Dean’s drunken ramblings were harsh, even for him. Yeah, it pissed him off that Sam brushed him away when he fussed over him, but he shouldn’t have gotten so pissy. Sam had done what had to be done to save people. Dean couldn’t be mad at him for undergoing the trials.

Dean couldn’t even be mad at him for not letting Dean hover over him and worry about him, not anymore. Because while Dean had been out drinking his ass off, Sam had been putting together the first real birthday Dean would have had in years.

While Dean had been texting him hurtful things, Sam had responded with love and patience, and when Dean had called him for help, he’d come.

Dean made his way back down the hallway to Sam’s room. Sam was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed and yawning, then scratching at his chest. Dean barreled into the room and landed directly on him, sending them both onto the floor.

***

Sam was still mostly asleep and totally unprepared to find himself sprawled on the floor with his big brother hugging the life out of him and frantically talking so fast Sam could barely make out what he was saying.

“Whoa, hey, Dean.”

Dean stopped talking and looked at him. “Hey, Sammy.”

“What’s all this about?” Sam asked, gesturing widely in an attempt to encompass the general tackle-hugging.

“I, uh,” Dean sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve kind of been a dick to you recently. And thanks for putting up with me, and I’m gonna do better.”

It was too early for this. Sam was still too sleepy for this. “S’okay, Dean. All good. I know you have your reasons.” He stood up and started rummaging around in his dresser for a pair of jeans.

“It’s not okay, though. You’re my brother and I love you and I shouldn’t be a dick to you. And I’m sorry.” Dean was standing behind him, looking at the floor, the tips of his ears flushed a brilliant red.

“Apology accepted, jerk. We’re good.”

Dean’s head snapped up and he met Sam’s eyes. “We’re good?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, and playfully put Dean in a headlock as he headed out the door to the bathroom. “We’re good.”

***

Sam, of course, insisted on singing to him as he lit the candles (where the hell had he gotten candles?) on the cake, so Dean insisted on videoing Sam singing.

They ate the cake, which was surprisingly palatable given Sam’s usual misadventures in the kitchen, and Sam urged Dean to open his presents, and then they spent the day lazily curled up on the couch watching Quentin Tarantino blow things up.

Despite the rocky start, Dean thought as he carefully braided a sleeping Sam’s hair with pink ribbons (where had the pink ribbons even come from? Who knew.), this was kinda the best birthday ever.


End file.
